Chapter 26
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Trudy
The party was winding down as we made our way through the thinning crowd.
The band was packing up, couples were saying their goodbyes, and the string lights overhead were starting to flicker off one by one.
Stephen’s hand was possessive on the small of my back, guiding me through the scattered groups of people.
“Trudy!” a familiar voice called out. Frank approached, his wife Margaret at his side, both of them smiling warmly. Frank had always been kind to me. He was one of the few men who’d treated me with genuine respect over the years.
“Frank, Margaret, wonderful to see you both,” I said, accepting Frank’s embrace.
“Thank you, dear.” Margaret squeezed my hand. “But, Trudy, you look absolutely radiant tonight. I’ve never seen you shine like this.”
Frank nodded, his eyes warm and approving as they shifted to Stephen. “She does. And it’s clear why. You’re a lucky man,” he said to Stephen, extending his hand.
Stephen shook it firmly. “I know exactly how lucky I am,” he said, and the possessiveness in his voice made something flutter in my chest.
After we exchanged more pleasantries and said our goodbyes, Stephen raised an eyebrow at me as we continued toward the parking lot. “Frank?” he asked, a hint of amusement in his tone.
“An old friend,” I said. “He was kind to me. Terry and I knew him for years.”
“He was looking at you like he was remembering what you look like when you come,” Stephen said, not bothering to hide the satisfaction in his voice. “Good thing he knows you belong to me now.”
I rolled my eyes, but I was smiling. Before I could respond, a voice stopped us in our tracks.
“Trudy! Leaving so soon?”
Harold and Edith Foster stood near the parking lot, Edith’s smile sharp enough to cut glass. Harold looked uncomfortable, which probably meant his wife had already spent the evening being her usual charming self.
“Happy anniversary,” I said, forcing warmth into my voice. “You two had such a lovely party.”
“We did,” Edith cooed, her eyes raking over me and Stephen with deliberate cruelty.
“And, Trudy, it’s so brave of you to put yourself out there again at this stage of your life.
Really, it takes courage. It’s nice that you’re willing to try something so different from what you’re used to.
” She tilted her head, her smile never wavering.
The words landed exactly where she intended them to, right in the soft spot of my insecurity about age, about moving on, about whether this was all too fast.
But before I could respond, Stephen stepped forward. His voice was smooth as silk and twice as deadly.
“Yeah, Trudy is something special,” he said, wrapping his arm around me like I was the most precious thing he’d ever held.
“And you’re right; she could have her pick of men.
But she chose me. And I thank God every fucking day for that.
” He smiled at Edith, and it was the smile of a predator.
“You know, I think it’s really admirable how you stuck it out, Edith.
Ten years and you’re still trying to make it work.
Takes real dedication to stay in something when clearly neither of you is getting what you need.
” He smiled, his voice dripping with false sympathy.
“But Trudy here? She’s getting everything she needs. And that’s what matters.”
Edith’s face went red. Harold looked away, probably hiding a smile.
“Come on, babe,” Stephen said to me, his voice turning soft again as he guided me toward his car. “I want to get you home and out of that dress.”
We left Edith sputtering, and I couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up from my chest as Stephen opened the car door for me.
At home, we moved around each other with easy familiarity as we got ready for bed.
Stephen in the bathroom brushing his teeth; me in the bedroom sliding out of the dress that had caused so much trouble at the party.
By the time he emerged in just his boxer briefs, I was sitting on the edge of the bed in one of his T-shirts, my hair pulled back.
“Can I ask you something?” I said, watching him move toward me.
“Always.”
“The journal. What are you going to do with it? When you finish the last entry, I mean. What happens then?”
Stephen was quiet for a long moment. He sat down beside me on the bed, his expression serious in the lamplight. “I talked to King about it,” he said finally. “About telling Grace everything. And he shut that down hard.”
I turned to look at him. “What did he say?”
“He said Grace doesn’t need to remember her mother that way.
That some secrets die with us. That she’s already carrying enough weight.
She doesn’t need to know her mother was capable of murder.
” He ran a hand over his face. “King’s not wrong.
Grace loves her mother. That love is real, and it’s pure, and it’s one of the few things that got her through everything else. What good would it do to taint that?”
I took his hand, squeezing gently.
“What do you think?” he asked me, and I could hear the conflict in his voice.
“I think King is right,” I said firmly. “Stephen, Grace doesn’t need to know this.
Not because she’s not strong enough or because she doesn’t deserve the truth.
But because some truths don’t serve anyone.
They won’t make her life better. They won’t change what happened.
They’d just add another layer of pain to a woman who’s already survived so much. ”
He was quiet, still wrestling with it.
“Your daughter,” I continued, “is about to become a mother. She’s building a life with King, creating a family. What does she need right now: the knowledge that her mother was a murderer, or the ability to hold onto the good memories she has?”
Stephen looked at me, and I could see the moment he accepted it. Not easily, and not without regret, but he accepted it.
“You’re incredible, you know that? Your concern for my daughter, your love for her... that’s who you are. And it makes me love you more than I thought possible. Every single day with you, I fall deeper.”
I didn’t have words for that. My throat felt tight, my mind racing with a thousand thoughts I couldn’t quite articulate. So instead, I kissed him.
What started as a gentle kiss quickly became something deeper, more urgent.
His lips were soft but insistent, and I felt myself melting into him.
He pulled me closer, his strong arms wrapping around my waist, and I went willingly.
He pulled back just enough to look at me, his dark eyes intense and filled with so much love it took my breath away.
Slowly, deliberately, he pulled the T-shirt over my head and tossed it aside.
His gaze traveled over my body, reverent and possessive at the same time.
“Fuck, Trudy,” he murmured, his voice rough and raw. “You’re so goddamn beautiful. And all fucking mine.”
He laid me down on the bed, his body covering mine with careful deliberation.
His lips found mine again as his hands roamed slowly across my skin, my shoulders, my ribs, the dip of my waist. Every touch was intentional, unhurried, like he had all night to memorize me.
Every touch sent shivers through me, igniting something primal and electric.
“Let me take care of you,” he whispered against my ear. “Let me love you right.”
I nodded, unable to find words, and he continued his slow descent. His mouth traced a path down my neck, across my collarbone, and lower still. He took his time, kissing every inch of me like I was something sacred. When he reached my breasts, he paused, looking up at me with dark, hungry eyes.
“This is mine,” he said, his hand splayed across my heart. “All of this. You’re mine, Trudy. Every fucking part of you.”
“Yes,” I breathed.
He entered me slowly, so slowly, and we both gasped at the sensation. No rushing, no urgency, just the two of us, connected, moving together like we were choreographed for this. His pace was deliberate, deep, hitting that perfect place that made me gasp his name.
“That’s it, baby,” he murmured against my neck. “Take all of me. You feel so fucking good. Like home.”
My nails dug into his back as he moved, and he groaned in response, his hips never breaking their slow rhythm. His forearms bracketed my face, his eyes locked on mine, and I realized I couldn’t look away. This wasn’t just sex; this was him claiming me, loving me, showing me everything he felt.
“I got you,” he whispered. “I’ve always got you. You’re safe with me, Trudy. Always.”
The intimacy of it, the way he said my name like a prayer, the way his body moved with such deliberate tenderness... it undid me. I came with my forehead pressed to his, our breathing synchronized, his name tumbling from my lips like a confession.
He followed moments later, burying his face in my neck as his body went taut, his arms tightening around me like he’d never let go.
“I love you,” he said into my hair. “So goddamn much it terrifies me.”
“I love you too,” I whispered back, clinging to him in the darkness.
Afterward, we lay tangled together in the darkness, his arm around me, my head on his chest. I could feel his heartbeat slowly returning to normal, could feel the rise and fall of his breathing as it evened out.
“Trudy,” he said after a long moment of silence.
“Hmm?”
“Will you read it with me? The last entry. I don’t want to read it alone.”
I lifted my head to look at him. In the darkness, I could just make out the outline of his features. “Of course.”
He reached over to the nightstand where he’d placed the journal, his hand steady as he handed it to me. The leather felt warm in my hands, heavy with secrets and pain and a woman’s final words. He turned on the soft lamp beside the bed, casting a gentle glow across the room.
“Go on, baby,” he said.
I opened the journal carefully, finding the last entry. My voice was steady as I read the words written in Christina’s careful script:
“I suppose this is goodbye, Stephen.”